


The Kissing Case

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Love, M/M, PWP, Sherlock Seduces, Sherlock Tricks John, Sherlock's First Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-09 22:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2000079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock recruits John for an experiment that gets a bit carried away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kissing Case

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

"Well?" Sherlock asked, growing impatient with John's refusal to answer. When he heard the latch on the downstairs door, he looked up and realised that he had been talking to an empty flat for the last hour. When John entered the room, before he could even say hello, Sherlock asked, "How much saliva transfer do you estimate there to be in the average kiss?" without looking up from his laptop.

"Hello Sherlock. Yes, my day was great, thanks for asking. How was yours?" John said sarcastically as he hung his coat and kicked off his shoes. 

"New case. Your answer, please," he demanded, "I may have solved it."

"I don't have an exact number, Sherlock. It's like . . . a spit's worth, maybe," John shrugged. 

"You've met me before, yes?" Sherlock said sarcastically. "An estimate is rarely a satisfactory answer. I need precision before I waste any more time on this theory."

"Well, go out and snog someone then, I don't know what to tell you," John said. 

Sherlock huffed. "I'm disappointed. I would have thought with your vast experience you'd have been able to help me. Let's try another one. Could one control the amount of saliva exchanged? For example, if we were to kiss, could I maximise the amount that I transferred to your mouth? And if so, what factors would I need to take into consideration?"

"Um . . . I guess if you've pooled a bunch up and pushed it into someone's mouth, but that's disgusting. Whatever is exchanged is hardly noticed." John wrinkled his nose at the thought of a glob of saliva being pushed into his mouth. 

Sherlock, frustrated, stood up and moved over to the sofa next to John. "I am not talking about needing to transfer large amounts. If I've just eaten a peanut, and you're allergic to peanuts, might I be able to transfer enough of it in my saliva to cause you harm? I appreciate a peck on the cheek is unlikely to do the job. But imagine a more passionate kiss? They're usually quite . . . wet, are they not?"

"Yes," John nodded, a bit nervous that they were talking about this so close now. "And . . . maybe if you were eating a handful of peanuts you would be able to set off someone's allergy," he said. 

"The problem is the variables, though, I suppose," Sherlock muttered. Although John had probably kissed hundreds of people, he was clearly feeling uncomfortable. Sherlock, on the other hand, who had no experience what to speak of, was not uncomfortable. In fact, he was quite enjoying it. "Here's the scenario. Let's say, you and I used to be lovers. We no longer are, in fact, we can't stand each other. Yet," as Sherlock paused, he moved slightly closer to John and slid his arm along the back of the sofa so it brushed the back of John's head, "you still . . . desire me. Could I, if I were of a mind to, take advantage of your obvious urges and kiss you in a way that transferred the allergen?" He let his fingers play in John's hair for just a second.

John flushed dark and let out a hard breath. He swallowed hard. "Yes . . I think you could," he answered quietly. He should get up and move somewhere else but that light touching -- damn, it felt good. 

"How," Sherlock spoke in a lower tone, "exactly might I go about doing that?" He liked seeing John like this, flustered. His fingers were now on John's neck, probing into the tight muscles under the soft skin. "Be precise, don't forget."

John cleared his throat. "Um . . . snogging . . .I mean, that's really all." He knew that wasn't even a proper sentence but how was he supposed to think clearly with that bloody petting going on? And Sherlock's voice . . . damn it all.

"Show me."

John's eyes widened before he could stop himself. "What?" he breathed. 

"It's for the case, John," Sherlock said, slipping his other hand on to John's thigh. "Surely you must know that I am inexperienced in these matters. If you can't tell me, I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist you show me."

"T-tell you what? It's just snogging -- " John insisted, feeling heat erupt from where Sherlock had his hands. He wondered if Sherlock could feel it. 

"I'm afraid that advice is meaningless to me. I find it hard to believe that a man of your obvious popularity with the ladies doesn't have a range of techniques. Consider the scenario once again. You want me. Very much so. Don't forget, we used to be lovers so you are well aware of what I could do, have done, to your body. I need to get something into your mouth. Given your desires, what precisely should I do to ensure that the kiss serves it purpose? A detailed description or a demonstration -- either will suffice."

"I . . .you just . . ." _Push your tongue into my mouth_ , John thought to himself, but saying the words out loud made him turn even more red. But the alternative was actually kissing Sherlock. _You want me. Very much so._ The words rang in his head and propelled him forward. Before he could even think about it, he had his lips pressed to Sherlock's. 

Sherlock let his lips part to take John's kiss. He knew that, despite this being his first proper kiss, he was the one in control of this situation. The victory only pushed Sherlock to push John further. His hand still held John's neck. He pulled away from the kiss for a moment to purr, "Perhaps it wasn't mouth to mouth. Could it have been mouth to skin?" and he dragged his tongue across John's cheek to his ear, which he lightly bit, before moving his mouth back to John's to demand that the doctor kiss him again.

John couldn't help the small gasp when Sherlock pushed his tongue into his mouth. He reached up to rest his hand on Sherlock's chest, moaning when the man licked his face. Panting softly, he was ready for the second kiss, and he moved his tongue along Sherlock's. 

Sherlock forgot about the case. He now had a different experiment in mind. He memorised the movements of John's mouth and tried to replicate them. The soft noises from John indicated Sherlock was learning quickly.

John took a deep breath through his nose as they kissed, bringing his free hand to Sherlock's neck. 

At John's touch, Sherlock pulled away again. "If you don't mind me saying, I'm not sure that worked," he let it hang for just a moment, playing with John, before adding, "For the case, I mean. I would classify that as a more loving kiss." As he spoke, he moved the hand on John's leg to his inner thigh, slowly inching up. "Don't forget, there's a bit of you that hates me for the memories of all the gorgeous things I've done to you in bed. And I may in fact be trying to kill you. There'd be less of a feeling of romance in the room, I'd think. In that scenario, what technique would suit?"

John bit his lip and held back another moan at Sherlock's wandering hand. "It would be . . .rougher. Less lip kissing and more body . . . contact. Not face-to-face maybe . . . from behind," John flushed darker, trying to scoot back a bit. 

"I see," Sherlock said, eyeing John, not caring that it was so obvious that he was scheming. "Perhaps they weren't sitting awkwardly on a sofa. I am willing to guess that they might have been lying down." He tugged at John, pressing him back onto the sofa while Sherlock shifted onto his knees, looking down at the doctor, knowing that his height seemed even more to his advantage in that moment. "This time I will try first and you tell me what you think." He bent over John and repeated the kiss he had just learned but made it harder, rougher as John had said. One of his hands slid down the length of John's arm before holding his hand and pulling both their arms over John's head.

John watched him with slightly wide eyes, moving quickly between Sherlock's. When he pushed gently John obeyed, too stunned to argue. In the back of his mind he knew where this was heading if he didn't stop it. Still, he said nothing. When Sherlock kissed him, he tried to match his ferocity, unable to fight the moan this time.

John's noises urged Sherlock on. He moved his mouth to John's ear and said, "Oh yes, body contact as well. I forgot." He lowered his body, hovering his hips just above John's before grinding into him. Sherlock could feel John's erection against his own, and a pulse ran through his whole body as he settled into a steady rhythm. Sherlock looked at John and said, "Is this the sort of thing you meant?"

"And you said something about 'behind'? I'm not sure what you mean," Sherlock said. He sucked on John's neck. "Unless you mean something like this," he said, sliding one hand in between their bodies, moving down their chests to between John's legs, curling it and increasing its pressure. "But this is technically _from_ behind, is it? I suppose I must be doing it all wrong, aren't I?"

"Sh-Sherlock . . . please," John gasped, unable to help bucking into his hand. John's hand buried into his hair as he moaned softly.

Sherlock grinned to himself. He moved his hand to John's belt and undid it. "Take these off now," he commanded.

John didn't even hesitate. He unhooked the button of his trousers and tugged them down, shifting awkwardly to get them off.

Although Sherlock was enjoying playing with John's comfort levels, he wanted to be sure nothing would permanently change the balance of their friendship. He helped John over on to his stomach, Sherlock now straddling John's bare legs. He put his hands up under John's jumper, pressing firmly on the doctor's upper back and then down across his lower back, buttocks and thighs, before repeating the entire stroke again. He knew John was anxious; it was understandable, Sherlock himself felt an urgent energy, but as he continued the long strokes of John's backside, he whispered, "John, relax. You can tell me anytime if you want me to stop."

John felt a new wave of heat as he was ushered onto his stomach. And then Sherlock's hands were all over his body and he shuddered, breathing out heavily with lust. His hips were subtly grinding into the sofa as he panted softly. "Christ . . . your hands feel amazing," John murmured, picturing his long, slender fingers on his back.

The word amazing and the slight rocking of John's hips gave Sherlock the permission he was craving to continue with his experiment. His hands stopped reaching under John's jumper and focused more on the strong muscles that John's trousers kept disguised. Sherlock kneaded into the contours, letting his fingers trace the curves. He could feel John's body relaxing. Sherlock slid his own body further down the sofa; as he continued rubbing, he reached over and placed a soft but wet kiss on John's lower back. As he did so, he let his thumbs slip a bit closer to the warmth between John's legs so that with each massage stroke, he released the tension. Sherlock slipped one of his fingers into his mouth, wetting it, before sliding it down between John's arse cheeks. "Is this the 'from behind stuff' you were suggesting?" he asked. Although the heat from John's body seemed to beg Sherlock to enter, the detective wanted to hear John say it.

"Y-yes," John breathed, arching up into his hand. He turned his head to the side, trying to look at Sherlock.

Sherlock looked up at John and met his eyes. He wanted to say something, but uncharacteristically he couldn't find the words. He held his eyes as he slipped the wet finger into John's body, slowly but with s steady pressure. He watched John's eyes close and Sherlock felt the ache in his own cock. His finger found a rhythm, pushing further in each time and Sherlock let his eyes close as well.

Sherlock's eyes were dark with lust and John knew his eyes were no better. A moment later everything went dark, his eyes squeezed shut as Sherlock's finger slipped into his body. "Ah -- fuck," John moaned softly. Sherlock's finger started a steady rhythm and John gripped the sofa, moaning with each push.

Sherlock could feel his owns hips mimicking the rhythm of his hand. It felt good. He slipped a second finger into John, opening him. The arm that held Sherlock's body up shook slightly. The whole sofa was trembling with John and Sherlock's movement and it was beautiful.

John called out as the second finger went in. "Sherlock . . . oh God . . ." he moaned, knowing there would only be more to come. He couldn't help writhing lightly. It felt so good.

John's noises were so instinctual. Sherlock memorised them, but this time not to catalogue them away as new data but so that he could remember them always. So that he could hear them in the future in his mind when he was alone and lonely. Sherlock adjusted the position of his body, shifting his hips so they pressed against John as Sherlock's fingers thrust into him. With his full weight now resting on the doctor, Sherlock's free hand slipped into John's hair, which he held onto as he allowed his body to follow its own instincts.

John was panting as Sherlock's fingers pushed into him and he couldn't help wanting more. "Please . . . Sherlock," John moaned into the sofa pillow.

When Sherlock had started this little experiment, he hadn't been certain how it would end. Now he knew. The pressure that was building inside him, though, made it hard for him to be precise. His breathing was rough, and he moved his hand from John's hair down to free himself from his pajama bottoms. His skin against John's skin only heightened the urgency.

Sherlock's fingers brushed his prostate and he called out loudly, grinding hard into the sofa and moaning his name.

Sherlock delicately removed his fingers from John's body and spat into his hand. He was almost afraid to touch himself -- the intensity of this moment ached within him -- but he began a steady stroke as rocked his hips against John's body.

John groaned, gripping the sofa pillow. "God," he moaned loudly, arching up to get maximum pressure against the sofa.

The shift of John's hips was what Sherlock was waiting for. He began thrusting against John, hard and rough and a little bit awkwardly, because both the intimacy and the pleasure were almost too intense for Sherlock to process. His hands gripped John's hair with his free hand.

John grunted and groaned and moaned and called out with every thrust of Sherlock's body against him.

It was already too late before Sherlock realised it might be too late. He didn't have enough experience with partners to know he should have thought just a second or two earlier to slow things down. But he did have enough experience with his own orgasm to know that it was on its way. He felt the fullness, the tension, and he called out John's name before coming. He dropped against John's back, Sherlock's already damp hair sticking to John's damp skin.

John reached down and furiously stroked himself, coming minutes later to loud groans of Sherlock's name.

Sherlock slid over so that he and John were lying face to face on the sofa. He put his hand on John's chest and could feel the quick rise and fall of John's breathing and the fast pace of John's heart. He pressed his mouth onto John's and kissed him, without thinking of technique, just thinking of John and sweat and want and what had just happened between them. He kissed John hard and long and lovingly, his hand still on his heart.

John breathed heavily through his nose as they kissed, not wanting to pull away from Sherlock. He kissed back just as hard, loving how he tasted.

Sherlock could feel their breathing sync. Sherlock turned to look up at the ceiling. He whispered, "I have wanted to do that for quite some time. But I was afraid to try. For some reason, tonight I decided to."

John pulled him close and kissed him hard again, fingers tangling in his curls. "Me too, Sherlock. I love you," John breathed.

Sherlock knew he had weaknesses when it came to emotions, but one of his strengths was knowing that others often get feelings muddled up. "John," he said, "There is a difference between want and love, you know. If you want this to happen again, I am happy to oblige. But do not confuse or feel the need to say love if what you really mean is want."

John flushed and propped himself up to properly look at Sherlock. "I'm not confused, Sherlock. I can't stop thinking about you, I always want to be with you, my heart pounds and my stomach flips and I imagine you are with me all day when I'm at work--" John cut off and took a deep breath. "Of course I want you, but I know what words mean and I say the words I mean." He swallowed hard and lay back down, turning his head away and squeezing his eyes shut. He had to prepare for the fact that Sherlock might not -- probably didn't -- love him back. Sherlock was human after all and all humans had needs. Perhaps that's all this was. John turned even more towards the back of the sofa.

Sherlock was silent. He was gathering evidence, processing. He had to trust his logical mind, that was his strength. Sherlock did not like many people; liking seemed to be a prerequisite for love. He thought about John. John was different. Sherlock liked John. Sherlock couldn't stop thinking about John, he spoke to him even when he was not in the room. Sherlock always wanted to be with John, he texted him constantly even when he was at work or on dates. He did that to make John think of him, to be in John's mind even if he wasn't in his presence. John had just called those things 'love.' For weeks, Sherlock had wanted to kiss John, even though kissing was something he had previously had little interest in. Once he had kissed John, he had wanted more; his body wanted it, yes, but Sherlock knew his mind could have overruled his own body. It usually did. But this time, it hadn't. He had wanted to kiss John and he had. He had wanted to touch John and he had. He had wanted to hear his own name slip out of John's mouth when he came and it did. Just the memory of that elicited a warmth in Sherlock's cock. He put his hand to his wrist to feel his pulse and then it over his mouth, which was smiling. The next time John had said Sherlock's name, it was followed by 'I love you' and then he had listed the evidence to prove it. Sherlock had just examined the evidence of his own feelings. "John," he said finally, "It appears that I love you too. However, I do not know how to love you correctly. I am a quick study when it comes to some things, but am less confident about matters of the heart."

John couldn't help grinning and he took a moment to compose himself before turning to face Sherlock. "If you're sincere . . . Sherlock, if you really mean it, then it's perfect," John said, now grinning again.

"John, you should know I always mean what I say," Sherlock said, looking into the doctor's eyes before looking away. "Your declaration of perfection, on the other hand, may be somewhat influenced by the fact that we are lying on this sofa, drenched in sweat and ejaculate. After a week or two of being loved by me, you may need a rethink. I will prepare for that eventuality."

John rolled his eyes. "I know what I am talking about. I won't need a rethink," he said.

" _Do_ you know what you are talking about, John?" Sherlock said, snuggling into his chest. "In the time we've been together, you've never once thought something about which I later proved you wrong? Of course, you have. I find your certainty quite . . . lovely actually, but I can be difficult at the best of times and worse so when I don't know what I'm doing. I promise you I will try, John. But it's important for me to know you understand that I am offering you an out, if and when you need it." He kept his face pressed against John and slid his arms around him. "When you grow tired of my failings, you just have to say the word and I will leave you alone."

John held his close and tight, kissing the top of his head. "I have stuck around so far, and that was as your flatmate, something easy to replace. Even if I came home to six heads in the fridge, I'm not taking an out," John assured him.

The kiss on his head made Sherlock feel better about being honest. So he added, "John, there was no case. I made it up. It was lie." Sherlock licked up John's neck and dipped his tongue in his ear. "It was pretty clever, though, wasn't it?"

John shuddered and moaned softly. "I can't even be mad at you," he murmured. He smiled softly and was silent for a minute. "Am I the first person you've kissed then?" he asked quietly.

"Yes."

"Then perhaps there was indeed a kissing case, after all," John said, squeezing an arm around Sherlock. "And we solved it together."


End file.
